


It's just a K, really

by Eturni



Category: Good Omens (TV), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Martin deserves support, Mild spoilers for MAG 164, No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, Trans Martin Blackwood, Trans issues written by someone who is not trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eturni/pseuds/Eturni
Summary: "That's ridiculous, I thought. That's not a real name. But you wouldn't lie to me."The question is, what very odd namehadMartin given Jon to make it sound unreal? Perhaps Martin Kartin Blackwood, though that would beg the question as to where he thought that one up. Perhaps a local Mayfair-based demon who also likes the idea of a new middle name.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Crowley
Comments: 23
Kudos: 115





	It's just a K, really

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a good dozen things that I _should_ be doing right now. Thanks to the aftermath of MAG 164 and the RQ discord's absolutely wonderful fans wanting to discuss anything but the actual statement, this came up. And I had to write it. Immediately.

The bars and cafs in Soho are known for being slightly better about the queer scene than some other areas of London and Martin tended to gravitate to the area when he had to be in central London for any given reason. It had felt safe from his first steps out when he knew people were looking at him like a butch and felt more and more comfortable as he was seen for who he really was.

Martin had been sat at his laptop for almost two hours trying to find the best course from the best university to apply for a job with the nearby Magnus Institute. Best, of course, meant the one that was least likely to be able to be disproven. A department that no longer existed, or somewhere that records had been destroyed. He was approaching 22, finally, and there would no longer be much questioning about how he’d managed to get a Master’s… in a course that didn’t _really_ exist so much in the UK.

He tugged at his hair in frustration, trying to figure out if a fake research team was too big a thing to lie about. It would be hard to disprove, maybe. Or easier? Maybe something that should have less of a paper trail...

He startled when a cup was placed in front of him, almost knocking it clean off the table when a hand settled on his shoulder. “CVs aren’t supposed to be that stressful, you know. You look more like you’re doing something a bit naughty.”

Martin almost choked on his own tongue, turning as flame red as the stranger’s hair as the other slid into the seat opposite him; about 70% leg with something unsettling serpentine about him despite the coffee mug grasped in both his hands. Despite being in sunglasses (in England) there was something very excited and almost mischievous in the smile that the man gave him.

“I... What? Pardon me?” 

The other grinned and Martin could half think he saw something like a fang flashing at the edge of it. He shook his head. It was just all this stuff about parapsychology. He couldn’t let it get to him if he actually got the job; he’d be dealing with ghost stories day in and day out. “You look too young to be having to think really hard about when you had that summer job when you were 17.”

His stomach twisted at that, something acidic and resentful that almost immediately flipped to guilt as soon as he realised it. It would have been nice to have only had a summer job at 17, but him and mum wouldn’t have survived that way. “Yeah. I… Dunno _what_ I’m doing, to be honest. I just need a better job than what I’ve got now, you know? but how do you do that without the experience, right? And it’s not like things are any cheaper, all the inflation, and mum, and the sodding rail fairs and-”

Martin didn’t know entirely what had prompted him to word vomit all over this complete stranger, beyond the fact that he was stressed and it was already close to the boiling point. He saw the exact moment, though, when glee turned to something closed off and almost angry in the man’s face.

It looked dark and left a tremble of cold fear in Martin’s stomach but instead of the disgust or annoyance he was expecting the bloke relaxed back in his chair with a deep sigh like he’d been defeated. “Alright, alright. I’ll help then.” though martin distinctly didn’t remember asking for help “What is it you need to do to pull this off, Martin?”

He felt a shiver go down his back at that, a warning that this wasn’t right. What else had he seen over his shoulder to spot his name on the document? How long had he been looking? What if he hadn’t been and he Knew anyway?

Panic settled in sharpish and he was about to immediately tell the guy that he was totally mistaken and that nothing was wrong beyond some formatting issues. Instead he stopped short as the man leaned in close, intensity that Martin could feel but couldn’t see behind the sunglasses.

“Come on. We’re in the middle of a crowd, what exactly am I gonna do to you? If you don’t like my help you could always just scrap it all, right? Isn’t it worth at least seeing if I can help you out. For your mum, right?”

Martin instantly decided that he wasn’t touching the drink that he’d brought, side-eyeing it with that same prickling concern, but conceded that he was stuck and that anything was better than nothing right now.

He didn’t get any further into his reasons, though. Just that he hadn’t studied and needed to make it look like he had to go for this job. The guy near lit up at that, bringing his chair closer with a screech that seemed to go to everyone else’s bones the same way it did Martin’s. Barely an hour later the guy had helped him get a copy of a certificate from the University of Edinburgh (which apparently _did_ do parapsychology research for masters?) and doctored it up pretty well. Even gave him the name of a print shop that would make it look authentic no questions asked. Even got him a fake bachelor’s in psychology to go with it from much nearer home to account for his employment history.

It meant he was going to have to be really convincing when he got there, which was all sorts of worrying, but some of the worst of the panic about how he was going to pull this off had receded as the guy chattered away about Edinburgh’s history and how he’d once tricked a friend into going out there for him on a job.

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes as he realised how long they’d been sat there. “Oh! It’s been ages. I’m sorry it took so long! Thank you, uh-”

“Anthony J Crowley. Can call me Crowley though, most people do.” The man grinned, the edge of something sharp about him despite the pleasantries.

Martin got the feeling the guy was enjoying the chaos that this was bound to cause later. Honestly it was making his own stomach flip a little but he _needed_ a decent job, and soon. “Right. Nice to meet you I guess. And, uh, thanks. This- this is really gonna help me.”

Crowley shrugged as though the praise were an unwelcome spotlight on him. Martin knew enough of that feeling, how strange genuine praise could be, that he let it drop almost immediately. “Might be a bit weird to ask… but what does the J stand for?”

The grin this time was pure glee with little of the sharpness that previously had Martin feeling on edge. “Jorts.”

“Oh, come off it. I mean you don’t have to-”

“Well, it’s Janthony, sometimes.”

Martin could _feel_ the tips of his ears flushing with the sudden certainty that he was being made fun of. The worst bit being that he really didn’t know why. “Look, I’m sorry if it’s a sore subject. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

The man laughed again and Martin did his best to sink into his seat, convinced he could feel the eyes of everyone else turning to look at them. (This was, of course, London, and the guy could have been singing Rent at noise pollution levels and most people would still just fight to _avoid_ eye contact.)

“Sorry, kid. Nah, it’s just it doesn’t really stand for anything, you know? It’s sort of… just a J. When I was picking out my name it seemed like it fit. Like you’re sort of supposed to have something there. I mean, not everyone does, but it’s a bit of flare isn’t it? A bit fun. So it’s there.”

Martin looked fixedly at the screen in front of him and swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

_When I was picking out my name._

It could mean _anything_ of course. Bloke was obviously dodgy as all Hell so it could be some kind of way to dodge the rozzers. Could be that he was on the run from something, or someone. Might have been disowned at some point and done it out of spite. Might just have wanted to.

Still, they were just off of Old Compton Street, not that it necessarily meant anything, and the guy was in what distinctly looked like women’s jeans and… Well, it all might mean nothing but it might mean _something._ Either way, the guy was happy enough with a slightly feminine presentation.

It wasn’t like he really had any friends or anything to go to. Couldn’t really talk to his mum about it with everything going on, and online forums were better but still just so… busy. He thought his heart must be thumping hard enough for Crowley to hear it when he finally opened his mouth with “when you were picking it out?”

“Yeah. Gotta get a name that suits you. Changed it a few times, actually. Not always easy to find one that fits while everything’s changing, you know?” He said it with this breezy confidence that Martin wished he could have himself. If being out there like that wasn’t so mortifying, and still so dangerous a lot of the time.

“Yeah, it’s been… Not always been easy.” He admitted, looking down at his own hands, at the keyboard.

“You’ll get there.” He could hear the smile in the man’s voice as he got up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Martin’s pretty good though. Think you got the right of it pretty quickly.”

He left without anything further, barely throwing up a casual hand to acknowledge Martin’s stuttered thanks.

He turned back to his laptop and considered a few options as he sipped at his oversteeped tea, still refusing to touch the new one Crowley had brought. Martin J. Blackwood seemed a little too on the nose. M and B were straight out, obviously. S seemed strong but just didn’t look quite right. For all that he had worried about making his faked credentials look good enough this seemed just as important. Like he was clicking together another piece of the puzzle that hadn’t fit the picture on the box he'd been given.

When he finally got to Martin K Blackwood he couldn’t help but smile as he thought about introducing himself with none of the usual anxiety. He could even imagine one day sitting next to a kid who looked just as scared as he sometimes felt and being able to say “it’s just a K, really. Thought it sounded good when I was picking my name.” He filed that away for now, though, maybe talking to a stranger was never going to be his style.


End file.
